Monochrome Manuscript
by Neellok
Summary: After Afghanistan, Tony Stark saw everything in black and white-literally. Not a single color registered. It was a defense mechanism, his brain's way of coping with what had happened. Black and white meant newsreels, films, things that were old, outdated, and distant. If it was in black and white, then it couldn't possibly be happening now, could it? If it was black and white, the


Title: Monochrome Manuscript

Pairing: Gen, background Tony/Pepper

Summary: After Afghanistan, Tony Stark saw everything in black and white-literally. Not a single color registered. It was a defense mechanism, his brain's way of coping with what had happened. Black and white meant newsreels, films, things that were old, outdated, and distant. If it was in black and white, then it couldn't possibly be happening now, could it? If it was black and white, then it couldn't possibly hurt him, could it?

The last color Tony remembered seeing was blue. It flared into life like a burning star in a galaxy of darkness and then slowly disappeared into the black hole of pain. He coughed and gurgled around the mouthfuls of water clogging his lungs and mouth. He spat out as much as he could on the dry ground, wincing as sparks shot from the old car battery and into his chest. He wondered how long he could hold his breath before he drowned. Would they revive him or just throw him onto the ground like a discarded weapon?

The faint glow of the flickering light bulb almost blinded him as he opened his bleary eyes. He squinted against the brightness, wishing for the first time in days that everything was dark. He hated the inky black that shadowed every corner of the dingy cave where he was captive. He hated the smell of rot and unwashed flesh.

He glanced up at the soldiers and grinned. He almost choked on a laugh as they babbled in their weird language that he couldn't understand. He was sure that what they are saying wasn't funny, but he couldn't help it. A few weeks ago, his only concern had been finishing his latest weapon by the deadline and flying to Afghanistan to demonstrate it. He counted to ten under his breath and waited for them to dunk him again. He knew that he wouldn't give in. He couldn't.

Tony didn't know when it began, but the thought of building another weapon twisted his stomach into knots. It felt as if someone had reached their hands into his open flesh and threaded their fingers through his gut, tying it into a neat Christmas bow. He took shallow breaths as he continued to wait for the soldier to dunk him in the freezing cold water. He knew it was only a matter of time. Hyperventilating, he swallowed as much air as his injured lungs allowed as he was shoved under the water once again. His cheeks puffed and burned as he held the oxygen with all of his might. If he wasn't able to stay awake this time, then there was no doubt that they would do something worse than this.

He groaned as he was tossed to the side. They were done? He remained still until he heard the distinct sound of the door closing. He knew that they would be back. Tony's trembling arms pushed away from the rank scent of urine and dirt. He glanced around the cave and groaned. He placed an arm around his aching ribs and leaned against the cot of his bed. He inhaled the musty scent of sweat and wool.

He pulled the blanket around his shoulders and wrapped it as tight as he could around his shaking frame. He coughed into his wet hand, grimacing at the hacking sound. It sounded gross. Tony reached for the car battery and dragged it closer. He stared at the wires connecting him to his only source for life and frowned. He traced a black wire from under his shirt to the battery and back again. Black? Shouldn't it have been blue? He shook his head and squinted. It was black.

Tony glanced at the lit light bulb with panic. It was still on. They still had light. So why couldn't he see the red or blue wires? He glanced down at his green wool blanket and saw only charcoal gray.

He chuckled around the scream building in his throat. He was color blind. Monochromatic. A few years ago, his company (meaning his genius) had created a line of toys and interactive consoles that were designed for people who were colorblind. It had been more about textures than colors, though Tony knew that some people who had Monochromatic color blindness were sometimes able to differentiate certain colors by their brightness.

Tony knew that electrical shocks were one of the factors that could lead to color blindness. Or some other traumatic head injury that damaged the cones in the eyes. Maybe the battery had shocked him one too many times? Maybe all of the times he had mouthed off and gotten the hilt of a gun shoved in his face had damaged them.

"Stark."

Yinsen stared at him as if he had lost his mind, and maybe he had. Maybe he wasn't really stuck in a damp cave being held captive. Maybe he had died when his bomb exploded. Tony looked at Yinsen and smiled full of dark humor. Everything looked like a 1950s movie—black and white. It was as if it wasn't really happening.

He smirked at the thought. If this was a movie, then he was the director. He would write the script, cast the roles, and say when to cut. He would write his own ending to this pathetic tragedy. An ending where the protagonist finally grew some balls and rescued himself from the jaws of death—a story where the antagonist would dig his own grave and bury himself. It would be the best dang movie Hollywood had ever seen.

Tony threw off the blanket and ordered Yinsen to beckon their captors back into the room. It was time to rewrite the plot.

—X—

Tony felt out of place and disoriented returning to America. The sight of Pepper waiting for him on the runway was surreal. He couldn't stop staring at her hair. He knew that it was red—a beautiful copper that highlighted her light skin. But he couldn't picture it. He couldn't remember what copper looked like. His fingers clenched in the sling, hidden from Pepper and Rhodey. He wouldn't let them see how messed up he really was. He still thought he could hear Yinsen's light breathing in his ear when he slept, or the shuffled steps of shoes against a dirt floor as they paced back and forth.

He had been in Germany for one week, recovering from his kidnapping and injuries. He still wasn't used to the shades of gray that had replaced a brilliant world of color. His father had always told him that he looked at the world through rose-colored glasses, and needed to stop being a wuss if he wanted to be a real businessman. Tony glanced out of the limo window, the memories settling like acid in his stomach. It had only taken his kidnapping and the death of hundreds of people to remove them from his eyes.

Tony Stark wondered if this was how his father saw the world—Infinite shades of gray. Nothing was too dirty or too clean to stick his fingers into. He scarfed down the cheeseburger and ignored the worried looks that Pepper and Happy _subtly_ passed each other. He wasn't his father. He would never allow himself to become so twisted in himself that he ignored others. He had stared down the bitterness of hell and returned.

Nothing would stand in his way.

—X—

Tony gazed at the design on JARVIS's mainframe and smirked at the complete blueprint. He had been working on it for the past two days, tweaking areas and discarding whole schematics. He still didn't trust anyone, especially people from Stark Industries. Something had gone wrong. No one should have known his position and destination in Afghanistan other than a select few. Obie was at the top of that list.

Tony had known him since he had been little, but that was the problem. Obie had been Howard's partner—never his. Maybe it was because his entire perspective had changed, or maybe it was because he had gotten used to reading body language and emotions that went unsaid. Regardless of what it was that had caught his attention, he knew that Obie needed to be watched out for. Obie's smiles were smooth as glass and just as transparent. His eyes were cold.

"Sir, the rendering is finished. Shall I send it to the fabricator?"

Tony threw off the thoughts and smiled at his completed masterpiece—one of two things that had been born in the cave. He leaned back in his chair, following the droll newswoman talk about the red carpet event that was taking place that evening. The suit was made of titanium gold alloy. He had ordered JARVIS to choose the best material possible. Gold: the color of the Afghan desert. He stared at his hands, deceptively clean when only a few months before they had been drenched with the blood of a friend.

"Why don't you throw some blood red in there too?" Tony asked. If anyone asked, he could always say it was hot rod. He still had one, right?

Tony changed into evening wear and smirked when he found the car he had been thinking of earlier. Time to change the world. He was done hiding.

—X—

Tony wheezed as he stumbled into his lab. He crashed onto the floor, dragging the glass case with his old arc reactor in it with him. He was tired, but he knew that if he didn't insert the reactor he would die. Just darkness. He fought against the shadows that were creeping into his vision.

His fingers closed around the bright light of his salvation. Blue. He remembered that it was supposed to be blue. Blue like the sea, and frozen popsicles. Blue like his mom's favorite flowers—Salvia—and blue like the color of Pepper's eyes. He blinked as his heart pounded in his chest. He just had to reach into his chest and secure the wires.

He couldn't do it.

Black overtook his vision, sending him spiraling into a memory of caves, soft snores, and the threat of foreign words.

—X—

Obie was dead. Tony asked Pepper to pick him out a white suit with a blue tie. Obie lived as he died—a traitor.

—X—

Tony doesn't want Stark Expo to celebrate his father. But he lets the press run whatever story they decide to come up with. He wanted to see if he could recreate something from the past. Would it make a difference? Everything was still monotone. It didn't matter if he wore purple, green or orange. He still couldn't tell the difference. It didn't matter if he ate mint chocolate chip ice cream or lobster. The taste of the delicious food never made up for the gray that only he could see.

He hated it! Hated that he couldn't change it back. He missed it. He missed seeing the sunset. He missed the mish mash of color in the paintings hanging on his barren walls. Maybe he should order Pepper to replace them. Maybe then he would be able to ignore that he once had been able to differentiate the different splotches. He can't bring himself to, though.

Pepper knew. Of course she knew. She knew everything about him, and she would do anything for him—even take over his company.

—X—

He was dying. Again. He tried to find some smidgen of humor in his situation; after all, he had been able to laugh while being held captive for three months. He should have been able to chuckle now. But the amusement wouldn't appear no matter how many thoughtless and crass jokes he told. He was dying due to his own creation, poisoned by the very thing that had saved him.

Tony reached for the bourbon and removed the cork. He chugged the drink and coughed. Scotch. He had always hated scotch. His father drank scotch. Why did he even have it in the house? Tony collapsed on the sofa and snickered into his hands. He was dying, and all he could think about was his father.

Wow! He really was pathetic.

—X—

Tony never thought that he could loathe something more than being electrocuted by a car battery. He was wrong. Vanko's whips were a hundred times worse. If he hadn't been able to summon his armor in time, Tony didn't doubt that Vanko would have killed him. All because Howard had once again been a sleaze and gypped someone of credit. If Tony ever saw his father again, he wouldn't hesitate to punch him in the face.

—X—

Tony didn't care how drunk he was getting. He would be dead soon anyway. It had been a long time coming, hadn't it? How many times had the papers printed his various dangerous exploits and remarked on how close he had been to dying? Ten? Twenty? Eh, he had lost count years ago. Wouldn't they be excited to know that it would happen for real this time? He wouldn't be able to sue them for defaming his character… what little there was left.

—X—

Natalie was a Natasha. Tony snorted. He should have known she was an agent the day that he hired her. Beauty got you nowhere in life, except other people's beds and apparently undercover missions for a secret organization that Howard helped establish. Great.

At least he gained the information to create an entirely new element. Perhaps his father was good for something. What was yet another betrayal on his growing list of traitors?

—X—

It felt like Afghanistan all over again, only this time he had to fight his best friend. Tony fought his way through the drone and did his best to stay out of Rhodey's way. He knew that if push came to shove he would fight him, but he wasn't willing to have more blood on his hands. The words of Yinsen still kept him awake at night. He wouldn't waste any more lives.

Tony swerved out of the way of missiles as he spun away from the enemies. Happy and _Natasha_ were trying to capture Vanko. He didn't know how much longer it would take them, but he wasn't willing to lose his best friend. If Rhodey was injured, then Vanko would be destroyed. Simple as that. No one touched what was his.

—X—

The destruction of Vanko's suit ended in an explosion that reminded Tony of his escape from the cave. Everything was aflame. He felt the same vicious satisfaction, too.

—X—

Tony cradled Pepper in his arms. She had been the one thing that had kept him semi-sane throughout the past year. He knew that there were still a few screws loose upstairs, but she would hold him together well enough.

She was the only color in his gray world.

—X—

Then Loki attacked, and the world dissolved into chaos. Fury assembled a group of rag tag people who had no business working together, let alone being on an aircraft carrier. Tony resisted the urge to point out that, while he was a consultant, he was more qualified to deal with Loki than half of the people on the Helicarrier.

Tony joked around after he walked into the room where everyone was gathered. Only a few minutes ago he had been fighting against Thor. And yet, per Fury's orders they were now comrades. Tony patted Thor on the arm and wondered when Thor would change to the other side. You could never trust someone when family was involved.

"When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics?"

"Last night." Tony rambled about the information he had read, purposely keeping his eyes off of Captain America and what the man represented.

If he didn't concentrate on Bruce, then he would either say something really derogatory or punch him. Tony didn't think Fury would like either. So he just smiled and introduced himself.

"And I really admire the way you turn into a giant green rage monster." Tony couldn't resist throwing that bit in there. It had been years since he last saw the color green. He wondered what shade, but bit back the words. It didn't matter. Green was good enough for him.

—X—

"Hey, wait a minute. Since when is this about me?" Tony demanded.

"Oh, isn't it always about you, Stark?"

Tony growled. He really, _really_ wanted to plant his fist in that perfect, chiseled jaw. He didn't care that the guy had spent over seventy years in the ice. To Tony, it was as if Rogers had simply walked out of the old war movies Howard had poured over every night and right onto the Helicarrier without a care in the world. Times had changed, and if that ignorant blockhead didn't realize that, he would make him. Tony was not his father. He was tired of people comparing them and finding him wanting.

He wasn't going to be best buddies with Captain America, and he certainly wasn't going to take his crap! So Tony did what he did best; he cut the wire leading to his emotions and fired back with a shot that he knew would hit his target.

"A hero? Like you? You're a lab rat, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle! "

He may not make weapons for a living, but that didn't mean he was helpless. And as far as he was concerned, _Captain America_ was going down. In pieces.

—X—

Phil (_I thought his name was Agent_) Coulson was dead. Loki. Tony crossed another friend off on his list.

—X—

The Avengers. That's what they were called. Tony carelessly poured alcohol into a decanter and smiled at Loki. He didn't care what he was drinking. He only cared about keeping Loki distracted long enough to slip the bracelets on his wrists. The Quinjet would be here soon, and that would mean backup. Tony bantered back and forth with Loki as he waited.

Eyes dark with anger and greed bore into his, leaving him short of breath. He had seen that look before, but it had been in a mirror days after his escape from Afghanistan. Tony turned away and took another sip. He wouldn't be able to save another. He could barely save himself.

"How will your friends have time for me, when they're so busy fighting you?"

Tony smirked when Loki's weapon didn't work on him. "Eh. Performance issues," he quipped, not allowing himself to sympathize with Loki. Loki would have to escape his hell on his own.

—X—

Tony killed enemy after enemy. He blasted his repulsors and listened to the commands of Captain America as he told him what areas were overrun with the most aliens. He blasted ugly creatures left and right, trying to defend his city and world. His eyes were drawn to the bright light that extended above his tower and into the pitch blackness of space.

"_I think I would just cut the wire."_

Tony gave a dark grin as he thought about what he said to Captain America on the Helicarrier. This time he would make the sacrifice play. He would cut both wires, because either way he was a dead man. It was better to only take out himself than thousands of innocent people.

Tony grabbed the nuke and flew as fast as could toward the portal. He dialed Pepper's number and wished that she would pick up just as much as he wished that she would remain oblivious to what was going on. He didn't want to hurt her more than he already had.

Tony never thought that he would ever see something darker than black. He'd been wrong. Space was empty.

—X—

Tony didn't remember falling. He only remembered the sound of waking up again to a world of noise and tragedy. They had won.

—X—

They all went their separate ways, and Tony was perfectly fine with that. He didn't want them living at his mansion or in the tower. He didn't trust them enough to have them around his home or Pepper. He would fight alongside them, but he would never be one of them. He didn't need to be accepted by them. He only had to tolerate them on occasion.

He may trust the Avengers with his life, but he would never give them his heart. It had been ripped out too many times. His father had allowed himself to live and die for a friend. Tony had already died over and over. He wouldn't be able to survive the next time a friend died. It was better to not try at all.

—X—

Everything was still monochrome—shades of gray. At times it felt as if he were stuck in an old movie that would never end—a movie from an age long forgotten. But that was okay, because from here on out he would write his own script.


End file.
